


Simple in the Moonlight

by fandammit



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandammit/pseuds/fandammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Remember when we were kids and we’d all play truth or dare?”</p><p>He huffs a quiet laugh, gives himself the excuse to bury his face in the softness of her hair as he nods.</p><p>“Of all the things to survive a nuclear war.” He feels her smile into his chest.</p><p>“I remember you always picked truth.” She shifts across his chest and looks up at him, taps her fingers against his chin. “Because there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t say.”</p><p>“And you always picked dare.” He rubs his face against her outstretched fingers and smiles down at her. “Because there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do.”<br/>--------------------<br/>Marcus and Abby, the night before his failed coup attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple in the Moonlight

If anyone’s watching him right now, he hopes they’re as confused as he is conflicted. He’s exited and entered his room twice already, now stands staring out into the hallway in the direction of Abby’s room.

He thinks if he were a stronger man, he’d simply stay where he is. Imagines that if he were a less selfish person, he’d sequester himself in self-imposed exile.

Finds that he’s neither as he turns the corner and is confronted by the sight of Abby’s doorway.

He stares at it for a long moment and almost decides to turn back around the way he came. Leans his head against the doorframe and breaths out, realizes that he’s unable to come up with a good reason to knock on her door.

His hand seems to have ideas of its own as he raps his knuckles softly against the cool metal. He steps back and straightens his wrinkled shirt, tries to fix his stance into an approximation of confidence that he doesn’t feel.

There’s a long, quiet moment as he hovers outside her door. He wonders if perhaps she’s already gone to sleep, feels somewhere between anguish and relief that he won’t see her before the new day.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Abby steps out from the dim light, her hair falling in loose waves around her. There’s an impassive look on her face as she crosses her arms in front of her, waits for him to speak.

He can see in the lines of her face that she wants an apology; knows by the straight line of her stance that she expects an explanation.

He gives her the one thing he can right now.

“I just needed to see you,” he says quietly. Meets her gaze and hopes he can offer her a trade of his honesty instead.

She looks at him for a breath, then sinks into herself; reaches out and tugs him gently in by the hand.

He steps into the room and closes the door behind him, runs his thumb over the contours of her knuckles and looks up at her. Her eyes are soft but her mouth is turned down in a frown.

“I know you think that you need to do this alone, but you’re wrong.”

He stays quiet; remembers not to make the same mistake he made this morning. Recognizes now that denying that he’s planning anything is as stupid as it is insulting. Decides to say as much to her now that she’s not livid with him.

“I was being stupid this morning. I’m sorry that I lied to you.”

She keeps her hand in his but looks away momentarily; glances back up at him with sadness in her eyes.

“We’re in this together, Marcus.”

He swallows tightly and nods.

“I know.” He tightens his grip on her hand. “That’s why I can’t tell you what I’m planning. Someone has to be around in case…”

He doesn’t finish, finds that he can’t at the look of misery that flits across the shadows of her face.   

He won’t insult her by extending an incomplete apology. Can’t bear to offer half-hearted assertions that could ash into lies by the next night.

All he has is who he is: a broken, drowning man swimming towards salvation.

She looks at him for a long, uncertain moment before she threads her fingers through the spaces in his hand and pulls him towards the bed. He wraps his arms around her as she buries her face into the warm crook of his neck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she murmurs, her words a quiet sigh against his throat.

He breathes her in and lets himself feel, for just a moment, that what he has to give her can be enough.

* * *

It’s quiet for so long that he begins to wonder if she’s fallen asleep. He looks down at the mess of her hair underneath him. Feels a flutter of wonder at the feel of her skin beneath the tips of his fingers, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against his chest. **  
**

“Tell me what you’re planning. Please.”

Her voice is almost too quiet for him to hear. He cranes his head down and sighs into her hair.

He feels her shift at his brief hesitation, trails his hands down her arms and shakes his head before she can fully sit up and look him in the eye. He isn’t sure he can keep denying her if he has to meet her gaze.  

She drops her head back down and sighs, the warmth of her breath spreading out against his chest.

“Then tell me something else.”

He moves a hand up into her hair and cards it through the strands, slowly works his way through its tangled length.

“What do you want to know?”

She’s quiet for a moment. Her fingers draw a nonsense pattern across the lines of his ribcage.

“Remember when we were kids and we’d all play truth or dare?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, gives himself the excuse to bury his face in the softness of her hair as he nods.

“Of all the things to survive a nuclear war.” He feels her smile into his chest.

“I remember you always picked truth.” She shifts across his chest and looks up at him, taps her fingers against his chin. “Because there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t say.”

“And you always picked dare.” He rubs his face against her outstretched fingers and smiles down at her. “Because there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do.”

She gives him a half-smile and nods, reaches up to cup his face briefly before trailing her fingers down, resting her hand in gentle slant between his neck and shoulder. Her eyes stay on his a minute longer before she shuts them and drops her head, tucking it underneath his chin.

“Truth or dare, Marcus?”

He breathes in deeply, tries to calm sudden jump of his heart.

“Truth.”

She taps her fingers against the pulse point at his neck.

“What’s your favorite color?”

He’s still for a moment before he tightens his arms around her and laughs from deep in his chest. He feels the soft imprint of her smile against him.

“It used to be blue when we were up on the Ark. I’d look down on Earth and just see miles and miles of it. I used to dream about what an ocean would look like up close.”

“What is it now?”

“Green.” He shifts his head down to brush a stray strand of hair from his face. “It’s the first thing I remember when we finally made it to the ground - how beautiful the color green was.”

Abby nods into his chest.

They’re both quiet for a moment before Abby lifts her hand from his neck and draws a line up his jaw and back down again.

“I know it’s been a while, but this is the part where you ask me truth or dare, Marcus.”

He brushes his fingers across her arm, cups her elbow that’s resting across his chest.

“How about you get unlimited asks as penance for my idiocy this morning?”

Her warm breath flutters across his skin as she sighs out a muffled laugh.

“That’s incredibly gracious of you.”

“Well, I might also have ulterior motives.”

She shifts slightly to rest her head on his shoulder, stares up at him with a look of fabricated shock.

“And what might those be?”

He smiles down at her.

“We’ve established that you always pick dare. Which means there’s a chance that you’ll have to get out of bed to do something ridiculous.” He moves back from her so that he has a better view of her face, his hand drifting down to rest in the curve of her waist as hers comes to rest on top of his forearm. “I rather like where you are right now.”

A slow smile blooms across her face. She bites her lip in affected consideration.

“Then how will we know who wins?”

He tips his head back in surprise.

“You can win a game of truth or dare?”

She laughs, a short, genuine outburst of delight.

“Of course. Any time someone refuses to do a dare or tell a truth, they’re out - until the best truth teller or daredevil remains.” She smiles up at him. “It’s just that every time you and I played together, everyone would get tired of the game before either of us could win.”

“Huh,” he muses, settling his head back down to rest against the pillow. “That game makes a lot more sense now.”

She shakes her head, the stray pieces of hair tickling up at him.

“So since I get unlimited asks, how will we know who wins?”

He looks up as he thinks of an answer.

“Obviously, if you come up with a question I won’t answer, you win. And if you fall asleep or run out of questions for me to answer, then I win.”

“What does the winner get? Same thing as when we were kids?”

“And what was that?”

“One request that absolutely has to be fulfilled by whomever the winner chooses.” She grins at him. “That’s why I always wanted to win.”   

He smiles at that but says nothing; finds himself drawing small circles in an open patch of skin where her shirt has lifted from the waist of her pants.

She sighs and closes her eyes, lets her head loll lazily against his arm. When she opens them again, he can already see sleep lining the edges of her pupils.

“Scoot back.” At his bewildered look, she laughs. “I have to be able to look you right in the eye so I can figure out if you’re lying or not.”

He wants to tell her that he wouldn’t lie to her, now; can’t remember ever having done so, really. The greatest lies he’s ever told have been to himself and no one else. Finally, he decides not to protest too much when he’s just finished offering penance and shifts his arm out from under her head, moving it into the space between them; the other he keeps draped loosely over her waist.

She moves back and tucks one hand under her head and wraps the other in his hand between them. She twines his leg between both of hers and looks back up at him, satisfied.

They stare at each other for a long moment and he thinks he could be content to lay there, gazing at the soft shadows along her face until the light begins to peek through the window at their right.

“What was your favorite thing about the Ark?”

His lips press together in muted smile.

“Earth skills class.”

She tilts her head to the side, buries it in the pillow underneath her and groans before fixing him with an unimpressed stare.

“It was not.” She ducks her head down and meets his eye, cranes her head forward with narrowed eyes before laughing quietly. “It seriously was?”

He nods.

“Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully before answering.

“Being in that class always reminded me there was more to life than living in space. I could imagine picking out different flowers, walking underneath trees, swimming in a river.” He lifts his hand from her waist and maps the slope of her cheek with his fingertips. “It let me have hope in something other than the Ark.” He pauses, considers if there’s more he should say.

Because it’s true, of course - there was a time in his youth when he was filled with hope. But in the pause is all the things he cannot say: _I forgot how to have hope, after that. I forgot everything but survival. Thought that hope was nothing but an empty dream. Until we got here. Until you made me believe it again._

Instead, he grins at her and says, “Of course, I know you didn’t see earth skills that way.”

She rolls her eyes at him, then smiles. “Just lucky I have you down here with me.”

He shakes his head. “You got someone who can identify different types of trees by looking at their leaves. I got someone who can set broken bones, diagnose two hundred different kinds of viruses, _and_ inspire people to do the right thing.” He reaches over and threads a strand of her hair through his fingers before looking back up at her seriously. “I’m the lucky one.”

She grips his hand and shakes her head, a fierce look in her eyes.

“Stop that. You know that you’re more than that.” She shifts closer to him. “You’re the man with the vision to lead our people - even if they’re too blinded by fear right now to realize it. You’re the one who made sure that we had enough food and warmth through that horrible winter. You’re the one that helped me take care of all these kids - even when they were too stubborn to want to accept it. No one in this camp could replace you. I can’t think of a day where I’d even want to.” She pauses, then sighs and smiles wryly at him. “So stop fishing for compliments.” She reaches up to lay a hand on his cheek. “We’re lucky to have one another.”

He swallows, almost wants to deny it. But the way she’s looking at him right now doesn’t leave him room to do anything but acquiesce.

She takes a deep breath and nods at him, gazes down at him before lifting herself half up on her elbow. He’s momentarily confused at her movements before she lifts an eyebrow at his arm; he stretches it out underneath her and waits until she settles her head back underneath his chin before draping it loosely over her shoulders. She reaches across his torso with her hand and tucks it in between his side and arm, sighs as he envelops her in the warm circle of his arms.

He lightly strokes her arm and mouths the words quietly into her ear.

“What happened to having to look me straight in the eye?”

“I got cold.” He tightens his arms around her. “Plus, I’ll still be able to tell if you’re lying.”

“I wouldn’t. Lie, I mean,” he finally says, a quiet sincerity to the words.

She turns her face into his chest; he feels a slight pressure where her lips brush up against him.

“I know, Marcus.”

He feels any remaining tension leak out of her body as he continues to trail his hand across the back of her arm. She sighs quietly and presses the pads of fingertips against him, shifts her head to keep her words from being muffled into his chest.  

“What’s your favorite place on the ground?”

He almost laughs as a thought comes to him, quickly, unbidden: _anywhere with you._ Except he knows he can’t say it, because it isn’t true. Realizes that the most honest answer is: _right now, right here, with you._ Except he can’t say that either, because this moment in time is fleeting; after tomorrow, it might never come to pass again.

So instead he tells her the true answer, in the strictest sense of the word.

“A few miles from Arkadia, there’s a small area where the trees thin out a little. There’s a small creek nearby and an open patch where the sun shines through all the way to ground.” His voice falters momentarily, forcing him to take a deep breath before he continues. “I buried my mother’s tree there. It seemed like a spot she would like.”

His throat closes up tightly. Abby shifts closer to him, somehow manages to make him feel enveloped in warmth even though he’s the one holding her in his arms. He lets the silence drift down over them, allows himself to relish the feel of her frame stretched out against him.

After a quiet interlude, he feels her take a deep breath. She moves her hand up and rests it on his chest, directly over his heart.

“Why won’t you tell me what you’re planning?”

He almost repeats the words he said tried to say earlier before he recognizes that she wouldn’t be convinced by them. Realizes that she shouldn’t be convinced by them, for the simple fact that that they would only be true, but not completely honest.

The moment stretches out before them. He takes a deep breath and lifts his hand from her arm, reaches down to hold the one that’s resting over his heart.

“There’s a high possibility that something goes wrong tomorrow.” She takes a sharp intake of breath and turns her face into his chest. He strokes his thumb gently into her palm. “If it does, I need to know that nothing can happen to you.”

She shifts her head back to look up at him.

“For the good of Arkadia.”

He stares down at her and remembers when he was told of having a strength that was not weakened by sentiment; wonders if what he’s doing now is borne out of strength or weakness.

He shakes his head slowly.

“For me.” He sighs and threads his hands through her hair, keeps his eyes shut as he continues. “I’m a selfish person, Abby. I need to know that nothing can happen to you because of me. I couldn’t…I don’t know…what I’d do.”

“We can do this together. You don’t need to choose between my life or yours, Marcus.”

“It’s no choice at all.” He opens his eyes, looks down at her intently. “It’s your life over mine. Every time.”

It’s not everything, but it has to be enough for now. He refuses to let himself think that this is his final say, but knows that he’d hate himself more if he said nothing at all.

She shakes her head and stares up at him desperately. “I can’t accept that.”

He sighs and leans down to brush a kiss against her forehead. She drops her head back down, buries it into the fabric of his shirt. He closes his eyes once more as he rests his cheek against the crown of her hair.

“I could just ask you to tell me the truth.” She finally says.

“I know.”

“Would you?”

He nods, feels her take a deep breath against him.

“If you asked me again, I would tell you.”

There’s a long, loaded pause between the two of them. Then, she takes a deep inhale and lets it out again slowly. She sinks her head further into his chest, curling around him with her body; reaches her arm back across his chest and clutches him tightly to her. He wraps her up in his arms, his fingers drifting up and down across any available open patches of skin he can reach. Her breathing becomes deep and even, floating out gracefully across his chest. It goes on that way so long that he wonders if she’s fallen asleep.

“What do you want, if you win?” Her voice is barely a puff of air ghosting across his skin.  

He reaches up and tangles his hands into the hair at the base of her neck, lightly strokes at the edge of the hair that’s framing her face with his thumb. She moves her hand up sleepily and threads it underneath his arm, rests her fingers on his wrist while her thumb slowly traces a line into his skin.

“Dinner, just you and I. I’ll do my best to look like a respectable councilor.” He shifts his head slightly to brush his chin across her forehead. “Maybe even trim this thing.”

She breathes out a small laugh and reaches up to brush her the back of her hand against his beard momentarily before resting her hand back down on his chest.

“Not too much. I like it.”

He exhales slowly and kisses her softly on the forehead; feels the lines of her face stretch into a smile.

“Whatever the lady demands.” He takes a moment to breath her in. “After dinner, a walk in the moonlight to my favorite place on earth.”

“What if there’s no moon?”

He huffs a chuckle. “Then I’ll impress you with my neverending earth skills and use the constellations to guide us.”

Quiet falls between the two of them again.

“You should teach those to me,” weariness lining every word of her reply.

He nods.

“Ok. I’ll add it to the list of events for the night.”  

He hears, more than sees, the smile as she asks, “There’s a list of events?”

“There’s a list of events.” He confirms as he brushes a few last strands behind her ear and dips his head so that he can rest his cheek against the softness of her hair.

She settles lower on his chest and drapes her body halfway over his; he folds his arm around her shoulders, palming the open space between her shoulder and back. He trails his other hand up the arm that’s resting on his chest and wraps her hand in his own.

Her slow exhale rustles the fabric of his shirt, the warmth of her making him grateful that he didn’t drape the covers over them. “I just want you to know that I’m not losing. I’m letting you win because you’re promising me dinner tomorrow night.”

He nods. “Of course.”

She squeezes his hand and draws it towards her, places a slow, soft kiss against his knuckles.

“Good night, Marcus.”

He brushes his cheek against her hair, kisses her gently across the hairline.

“Good night, Abby.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Bright Eyes's song "Lua"


End file.
